


weaver of tales, weaver of clouds

by lovebeyondmeasure



Category: Tales of the Five Hundred Kingdoms - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, F/F, F/M, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Japanese Character(s), Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Lesbian Character of Color, Yuletide 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebeyondmeasure/pseuds/lovebeyondmeasure
Summary: “Tell me again, Miyu,” Shiori said.“Which story, Grandmother?”“Any story you like. Your favorite, perhaps.”





	1. The Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CG (NYCScribbler)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYCScribbler/gifts).



> Hello and Happy Yuletide!
> 
> This work is set in a fictional version of Japan, called Nippon. While I have done my best to be true and accurate to the traditions and language and culture of Japan, I am not Japanese and have relied on imperfect human methods of information gathering to create this fantasy version of this wonderful country. I present you with this story, knowing it has been told with loving intentions and a healthy dash of artistic license.
> 
> Chapter two is a collection of Notes and References that I relied on while creating this story; the work itself is all contained in chapter one. Those who are curious may continue on, but please don't feel pressured to. I will say that it might be helpful to have the second chapter open in another tab, because I don't define everything in the work. If you need a quick description of what I mean, use chapter two. 
> 
> And note that this story has several character deaths; they are not graphic, but there are despictions of grief and loss that may be upsetting to you if you've recently lost someone. I drew on my own experiences, so they are as realistic as I could make them. Please take care of yourself.
> 
> Finally, this story does contains spiders; I have done my best to not make them graphic in nature, not are they presented in a way that is meant to be frightening or upsetting. Spiders are friends! But they are here and they are important. Didn't want anyone startled by this being a plot point. 
> 
> And with that, I hope you enjoy the story! It's been a pleasure visiting the 500 Kingdoms.

+++++ One +++++

Growing up, Miyu thought she might be the luckiest girl in Nippon, and possibly the world.

She lived in what must have been the prettiest valley on the whole island, and her village was full of people who treated her family with great respect. She had two parents who loved her, a brother who was smart and kind, and a grandmother who knew herbs and talismans and all sorts of other fascinating things, and told the most wonderful stories besides.

All the days of her childhood seemed touched by golden hands, and as she grew she learned the songs of her family, rejoicing in just enough sun, just enough rain, just enough rice to fill their stores with a bit extra for the new year’s mochi. And her voice rang out sweetly across the fields, calling for the sun and the rain and the rice to grow, and they did.

Miyu spent her days working the land beside her family, and learning to identify birds by their calls, and eating the sweetest of the summer peaches from the trees. And at night she lay on her straw mats and asked her grandmother, Shiori, for stories.

“You are the story-teller, the poem-weaver,” she said in her childish voice, eyes pleading. “Won’t you share your wealth with me?”

Her grandmother laughed. “You have a silver tongue, my girl. Yes, I will tell you my stories, but only if you make me a solemn vow.”

“I promise!” Miyu said immediately, thrilled to be asked to do something so grown-up as make a vow.

“Never promise anything, my girl,” Shiori admonished, “until you know the asking.”

“Oh,” Miyu said. She had been raised to this point to believe in the best of all people, and had never been betrayed. It was a new idea to her that she might not be able to trust in the words of another. “I understand.”

“Do you?” Her grandmother sighed, looking suddenly weary in the silvery shadows of the night. “You will. Make me a vow on your own honor that you will learn my stories faithfully, so that you may tell them again and they will never be lost.”

Miyu was young, but her heart was ever true; she looked up at the full-bellied moon and whispered her reply. “On my own honor I swear to learn the stories of my family faithfully, so I may tell them again and they will never be lost.”

Shiori nodded, feeling a moment of pressure that lifted like the dawn. “Remember your vow, and listen well, my beloved girl.”

“Did you ever ask my mother to make that vow?” Miyu asked, eyes heavy and deep with starlight. Shiori shook her head.

“Your mother is a good girl, and a good daughter, but she had too many things in her heart to carry the stories as well.”

“Does that mean that my mother has a small heart,” Miyu asked, “or that I have a big one?”

Shiori was startled by the question coming from her granddaughter, but was not disappointed. Even so young, Miyu showed that she had all the makings to be a good successor. 

“Your mother’s heart is strong and true, but you have a heart like the ocean,” Shiori whispered to the girl. “Deep and powerful and endless.”

“Thank you, grandmother,” Miyu whispered, closing her eyes.

“I will teach you stories tomorrow,” Shiori promised. “Sleep now.”

+++++ Two +++++

“Tell me again, Miyu,” Shiori said. 

“Which story, Grandmother?”

“Any story you like. Your favorite, perhaps.”

Miyu sat beside her grandmother’s loom, carefully slicing the ingredients for that evening’s _gomoku-mame_ into small dishes. Taking a piece of lotus root in her slim hand, she began to speak.

“Many years ago, in a quiet valley, lived a young man named Susumu. He was kind and good-hearted, despite having very little of his own.”

Miyu spoke to the rhythm of the loom, her fingers making smooth, even cuts into the pale flesh of the root. 

“One day, as Susumu was walking home from where he was working in the fields, he tripped on the steps leading back to his village, and tumbled down the hill. When he stopped tumbling, he found himself holding a piece of straw, unbroken despite his fall. 

“Well,” said Susumu, “a piece of straw is worthless, but it seems I was meant to pick this one up, so I shall not throw it away.”

As Susumu walked along the path to his village, a beautiful dragonfly came to him, and flew around his head. It shimmered green in the sun and was very loud and distracting.

“This dragonfly is a pest,” said Susumu. “I do not want to hurt a being so beautiful, but I cannot allow it to bother me.”

And so Susumu tied the dragonfly to the piece of straw, and carried it along towards his village.”

Miyu paused her story to eat a piece of the carrot waiting for her knife. Shiori wove on, her loom unceasing.

“As he went along, Susumu came upon a woman with her young son. When the boy saw the dragonfly at the end of the straw, he wanted it very badly. He asked his mother if he could have it, saying, “please, mother, I want that beautiful dragonfly very much. May I have it?”

Susumu, hearing the boy’s pleading, was moved, and said, “here you go, little boy, you may have my dragonfly, so long as you promise to treat it very kindly.”

The little boy promised, and Susumu gave him the straw. The boy’s mother was so grateful to Susumu that she gave him three of the oranges she carried in her basket. Susumu thanked her and they parted ways.

Before long, Susumu came upon another traveler on the road, a peddler with a great pack upon his back. The peddler had no beast to carry his wares, and had been walking all day.

“Please, young man,” the peddler said, “is there a stream nearby? I am so very thirsty, and I have nothing to drink.”

“There is no stream, grandfather, not for miles,” said Susumu. “And you are far to the next village. But I have these three oranges, which I will give you to slake your thirst.”

“Thank you, young man,” the peddler said, drinking the juice of the first orange. “You are very kind to an old peddler.”

“It is my honor to help you, grandfather,” said Susumu, who turned to continue back to his village. 

“Before you go, let me repay you for your kindness,” said the peddler, and from his pack he pulled three pieces of cloth which he was carrying to market. 

“Thank you, grandfather,” said Susumu, taking the cloth, which he folded carefully and carried over his shoulder. Once more he went along the road back to his village.

When he came to the cross-roads, he found there a fine carriage with many attendants. Bowing low, he moved to go around the carriage, which he knew must carry a very important personage. 

As he walked along, he heard a man calling, “Young man! Come back!” So Susumu turned around to approach the carriage bowing low once more as he did.

“How may I assist you?” he asked, and was startled when a beautiful young woman opened the carriage door. 

“I saw the beautiful cloth you are carrying,” she said, and from her voice and posture Susumu knew she must be a princess. “It is so lovely, I simply must have it.”

Susumu was unable to resist the longing in the princess’s voice. “Then I shall give it to you,” he said to the princess, offering up the three pieces of cloth. “Please enjoy this cloth with my most humble gratitude.”

The young princess was astonished by Susumu’s actions, and delighted by his good manners. 

“You are a good and kind young man,” the princess said, and give him a large bag of coins. “If you had asked me to buy them, I would have given you what they were worth; but because you were so generous, I shall be generous in turn. Good health and long life to you.”

Susumu was surprised by this, and offered his most humble thanks to the princess, who rode away down the road in her fine carriage. And when he finally arrived back in his village, his neighbors were very surprised by his sudden good fortune. 

“What will you do with these riches?” they asked, and there was greed in their hearts. But generous Susumu said, “I will buy myself a plot of land, and a plot of land for every family here, for you have all been so kind to me, and one kindness begets another.

And so it was that Susumu bought many fields, and gave many of them away, and the village became prosperous as each family worked hard on their own piece of land. And when Susumu told them how such good fortune had come about, they were shocked, and said to each other, how amazing it is that all this came about because of one piece of straw!

And for all the years of his life, Susumu remained kind and generous, and he became an important and well-respected man in his village. And for as long as he lived, he was known as Nagawara Susumu, Mr Lucky Straw.”

Shiori nodded, her hands never faltering at the shuttle. “Very well done, my beloved girl.”

Miyu had finished cutting the lotus root and the carrot and the shiitake, and was sitting comfortably with her eyes closed. At this praise, she opened them, and blinked at her grandmother.

“Do you think so?”

“Yes,” Shiori said. “You do him proud to tell the story so well.”

Miyu’s face warmed at the thought of her great-grandfather being pleased with the way she told his story. 

“I am proud to have made my ancestors proud,” she replied formally, slowly unfolding her legs. One had fallen asleep, and she stood tentatively, waiting for the feeling to return. As she waited, the loom clacking away briskly, she chewed slowly on a thought she had been saving for some time.

“What is it, my girl?” Shiori asked after a minute had passed. She had not looked over at her granddaughter, but after so many years, she knew when a silence held questions.

Miyu sighed. “When I was at Hitomi’s house, her mother told the same story, but it was not the same. The name was different, and at the end, the man married a millionaire’s daughter. If the stories are passed faithfully, how would Hitomi’s mother have a different tale?”

Shiori’s hands continued their work as her mind went racing down many paths at once; she had not planned to do this now, but it was possible her granddaughter was ready, and hiding the truth would do naught but harm.

“There are as many layers to this answer as there are to an onion,” Shiori said finally. “It is not now the time to unwrap them all; but I will answer your question in full, when the time is right.”

Miyu nodded and gathered her bowls onto her cutting board. “Thank you, Grandmother,” she said.

Shiori said nothing, her focus on the soft cotton passing beneath her hands. A great task lay before her, sooner than she had expected. 

Miyu closed the door to the weaving room behind her, leaving her grandmother to contemplate her own quiet thoughts.

+++++ Three +++++

“So you are telling me,” Miyu said slowly, “that by merely the telling of stories, we shape the magic that flows through the world.”

Shiori nodded, her focus on her granddaughter. “Yes. As we might shape the flowing stream by changing the riverbed, so too can we shape the flow of magic. Already you grasp the ways it may move, just as you know the stories I tell.”

Miyu shook her head. “As easily might I believe in my ability to part the seas and walk to the next island! Neither you nor I are supernatural creatures, like _kitsune_ or _yōkai_!”

“One does not need to have supernatural powers to work or shape magical currents,” Shiori said, “just as one does not need to be a fish to send ripples across the waters.”

Miyu subsided, but her grandmother could see her turning the thoughts about in her head. 

“You need time to weave these threads into whole fabric in your mind,” Shiori said. “Go finish weeding the garden, and come to me with your questions when you have finished.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Miyu said. 

Watching her go out into the thin sunshine, Shiori sighed. She had been similarly full of disbelief when her own aunt had told her about the _Gen'yū_ , until she herself had started seeing the way that words shaped the world. She sighed. Miyu would learn, as she had learned.

+++++ Four +++++

Miyu’s brother was five years older than she, and was the sort of young man other parents instructed their sons to emulate. Kazuki was tall and strong, honest and true, as quick to sow and thresh as he was with his _bō_. He had been sent to the monk’s temple to learn not only the _bō_ but to read and write; as a respected man’s eldest son, he had been raised to be a leader from a young age.

He had been kind to his sister, but the two had never been close, owning not only to the age and gender differences but to their personalities. Kazuki was outgoing, always running off to work with his friends in the fields or to play in the river, searching for adventure and glory. Miyu would watch him leave before turning back to her work.

There were few girls her age in the village, most older or younger by a large enough margin that she felt quite alone as a child. She did not mind this, though, because of the time she spent with her grandmother, and all the wonderful things she learned. 

When the time came for Kazuki to marry, though, Miyu followed the proceedings with cautious curiosity. She knew that, as the son, he was expected to inherit their family lands; she would be married off to another home, to take another family’s name before her own, to raise them children and bring honor to their house. It didn’t much appeal to her, but she was a good daughter, and resigned. 

Kazuki was less sanguine about the expectations heaped upon his broad shoulders. 

“I cannot marry Atsuko, or Hitomi, or Minako!”

“Tell me why, then, my son! If you are so insistent that a match cannot be make for you, you must have a reason! Have you made a promise to another girl?”

“No! Nothing like that! It’s just… I cannot explain it. I only know that I cannot marry now.”

“This is nonsense. Mother, reason with your child, for I cannot.”

Miyu watched her father storm out of their home with shock. She had never considered being so defiant of their parents. Through the paper walls she could hear their mother asking Kazuki questions in her calm, sweet voice, and could hear his frustration that he could not better articulate himself.

Later that day, she crept close to Shiori’s side as her grandmother wove.

“Grandmother,” she began slowly, “most people do not know of the _Gen'yū_.”

Shiori shook her head. “They do not.”

“Why don’t we tell them about it? If we have this knowledge, why do we not share it?”

Shiori hummed a bit, the cloth taking shape beneath her hands. “I have been instructing you now for many years. Yes?”

“Yes,” Miyu agreed slowly. 

“I did not tell you about the _Gen'yū_ right away.”

“No, you did not.” Miyu was quiet. Shiori let her granddaughter begin to draw her own conclusions.

“I didn’t believe you at first,” Miyu said eventually. “That is what you mean, isn’t it? That people wouldn’t believe?”

“Yes, in part,” Shiori said, inwardly delighted at the quickness of Miyu’s mind. “And also, there are many people with small and petty hearts.”

Again, silence, broken only by the clack and hum of the loom.

“People could do much harm and mischief, if they knew,” Miyu said. “They could tell stories and sing songs that would bring about misfortune on others, purposefully.”

“You are wise for one so young,” Shiori nodded. “Yes, that is a worry as well. Those of us who know of the _Gen'yū_ must tend it well and quietly, so that it does no more than bring about the proper endings to the proper tales. Otherwise it might become a tool for those with bad intentions.”

“What happens, though,” Miyu began slowly. “What happens when a person who is ignorant of the _Gen'yū_ becomes caught up by it? Do they know what’s happening to them? Or are they carried along, as a leaf is carried by the stream?”

“The latter, most often,” Shiori said. “But you have noticed, I am sure, that most of the tales I have taught you come out right in the end.”

“Many do, but many do not,” Miyu replied. “Many end with a person becoming a ghost, or being eaten by a demon.”

“Ah, this is true. But those people are wicked and cruel, and we tell the stories as warnings,” Shiori said. The indigo cloth was growing faster now, as she spoke. “Those who are good and just have nothing to fear from the _Gen'yū_ , so long as they keep their feet on the correct paths.”

Miyu nodded and rose to leave. Shiori wondered what had brought on these questions; but Miyu’s growing acceptance and understanding of the _Gen'yū_ made such conversations inevitable, and it was good that she was asking instead of assuming.

Miyu went out to the orchard, trailing her fingers along the tiny peaches that were slowly growing on the trees. It would be at least a moon before they were ripe for eating.

She wanted to tell her brother about the _Gen'yū_ , because she had a thought that was rapidly growing: that he was caught up in a tale, and that the _Gen'yū_ was pulling him onward towards some other ending than a village girl and domesticity. He was just the sort of young man she imagined in the tales, smart and strong and true. 

But she could not see him handling the idea that his fate was being determined for him very well. He would fight it, and the stories with young men like him were good stories, where they defeated ogres and saved princesses and became heroes. 

If he’d been miserly or rude, selfish or arrogant, she might have worried. But the stories that the grandmothers of Nippon told encouraged just endings, and a young man like Kazuki was destined for good things, just as rude old Hibiki in the village was going to end up married to a _futakuchi-onna_ if he didn’t learn to be more caring. 

But Kazuki would be in one of the good stories. She was sure of it. So when they awoke one morning to find a note on his straw mats telling them that he had gone off to find his fortune and intended to bring back riches and honor on the family name, and their mother cried and father shouted all day long, Miyu was quiet and calm. He had gone to follow the story. He would be fine.

For her part, Shiori knew that there were many stories that had unhappy endings that her grandson might have stumbled into. Many tales have happy endings, but the journey there may be paved with bones. But she kept her own counsel.

Months passed, until none but Miyu and Shiori considered it possible for Kazuki to return to them safely. Her father looked old and grey for the first time; her mother had lost weight and looked half a ghost. But one day, a letter arrived.

It said that Kazuki had traveled many miles, until he had met a young dragon being tortured by a great green oni. He fought the oni and beat it away, and the dragon’s mother rewarded him with gold and armor from her riverside hoard. He also tasted of the dragon’s blood, which gave him the ability to speak to animals.

Because of this, when he traveled along further, he was able to talk to an _ōkami_ whose paw was caught in a trap. When he freed the great wolf, it decided to become his companion, and Kazuki traveled about for many weeks, helping people who needed him. This led him to the door of a great palace, which was silent. No guards or servants came to the door, but the the lights were burning in every window.

He found that the daimyō had been slain and every member of his household frozen, down to the last serving girl and errand boy, by a spurned advisor, an onmyōji who had wanted to marry the daimyō’s only child, a daughter, so that he might join the succession. When he was refused by both the daimyō and the daughter, he flew into a rage and summoned an army of little _shikigami_ who he sent to control the entire palace. 

The onmyōji was losing control of his _shikigami_ when Kazuki arrived, which was how the daimyō had perished; the onmyōji bhas panicked when the daimyō had wrested himself free and had done the deed himself. The daughter, still in the room, had been forced to see it all happen.

Kazuki and his _ōkami_ entered the palace just as the onmyōji had nearly spent all of his life-force on controlling the _shikigami_. If he had died, the _shikigami_ would be free to do whatever they pleased and wreak havoc wherever they might go. Kazumi was not a rash or cruel young man, and could see that the onmyōji was dying. Instead of fighting the man, Kazuki asked him manu reasonable questions until the onmyōji saw what he had done, and dismissed all the _shikigami_. It was too late to save him, though, and the advisor perished there next to the master he had once served. 

Once all of this had finished and the palace was able to move again, many guards came and threatened Kazuki, who had seemingly appeared in their midst, along with the dead daimyō and onmyōji. It was the daughter that saved him, telling the guards that Kazuki had saved her life and all of theirs as well with his kindness and quick wits.

Kazuki was to marry her, and become the next daimyō, by the accord of all in the palace and lands around it, most especially his bride’s. He wrote to ask his family to come to him in his new place, so that he could care for them all the rest of their days.

The arrival of this letter was cause for much rejoicing, for Miyu and Shiori as much as any. Miyu had not expected her brother to rise so high, and Shiori had been afraid that his tale would be a tragedy.

When her parents began to pack up their house, though, Miyu found she did not want to go with them. It was counter to something deep within herself, something she could not explain; it was, she thought, how Kazuki must have felt, when their parents tried to rush him into marriage. Her story did not take her to this new province; she must stay here. 

Her parents tried to convince her, but Miyu would not be swayed. It was Shiori who saved her, though.

“I am too old to move now,” she said. “I will die here, on the land I have lived on my whole life. Leave me here with Miyu to care for me.”

After many long arguments it was decided: Miyu and Shiori would travel to Kazuki’s palace for the wedding and the festival, and if they wished to return afterwards, no one would prevent them.

“His journeys were long and winding,” Miyu said to Shiori. “It is not so far after all, if you go as the birds fly. The roads are not so crooked as to take many months.”

“It will be as it should, as all things must,” Shiori told her granddaughter, not so young now. “We can only follow along.”

+++++ Five +++++

It had been five years, now, since Kazuki had married his lovely bride, and Miyu and Shiori lived alone in the house on the hill. Kazuki sent money every six months, and between that and the crops and animals they raised, Miyu and Shiori had a comfortable lifestyle indeed for two women alone.

“Do your parents not fear for you, so alone out here, so far from family?” a man asked Miyu once, his leer asking another question entirely.

“No,” she said said calmly. “I am quite able to take care of myself.”

He had found thereafter that if he treated any woman badly, food turned as if to ash in his mouth for days afterward. Eventually, he found it simpler to be courteous, and found a bride.

Shiori, freed from watchful, uncomprehending eyes, began to practice her woman’s arts more openly, teaching them to her granddaughter as much as she was able. She was getting old, her back aching, her knees stiffening. The worst was the way her fingers no longer could dance so swiftly upon the loom; but she knew it was only time, taking its dues.

Miyu found that she took to the workings like a duck to water, just as she had learned the stories; it was as though she had found exactly the place where she fit best, and the knowledge had only to pour through her. 

She learned the women’s language, learned the charms and incantations, how to poultice wounds and diagnose a curse. It was complex, but the more Miyu learned, the more she wished to know.

“You will be a wise woman one day, my girl,” Shiori said to her late one night. “But such is the province of the old. It will be many years before you are called upon in such a fashion.”

Miyu fervently hoped so; she did not feel ready to give advice to anyone. She worked hard, day and night, to keep the lands going, to harvest and grow, to learn and protect as she felt she must.

They often opened their home to travelers, and it was thus that Miyu both met her first _kitsune_ and assisted with her first birth, for the _kitsune_ was quite pregnant. But Shiori knew many of the women’s arts, and the child’s first cry was loud and brought tears to the mother’s eyes. 

The knowledge of a safe home for travelers passed from mouth to mouth, and Shiori’s wards kept out those who meant them harm. Miyu learned the making of the complex knots, and hung them in the trees.

They met many interesting people and beings this way, and Miyu’s collection of stories grew with each visitor. But she was never so interested in a guest but for one, a young traveling man who was looking for work. She found herself entranced as she never had been before by a man’s laugh. The men of her village had been singularly uninteresting, but this man was not like them.

“My name is Juurou,” he told her. He had many siblings, and had left his home to seek his fortune elsewhere. “I do not know where my road will lead. I am content to follow it, and to earn my keep.”

He was good company, quick to work and quick to learn, and happy to let Miyu take the lead. He stayed first to help them with the harvest, then to help with threshing the grain, then thereafter he stayed because Miyu asked him to stay.

And so it was that Miyu found a husband, or perhaps her husband found her. And they were married on a quiet spring day beneath the cherry blossoms at the local shrine, with only Shiori in attendance, and for many years Miyu would say it was the most perfect day of her life.

+++++ Six +++++

Miyu and Juurou had five happy years together, and Miyu found that she understood stories of love and partnership with a deeper clarity than ever before, once she had experienced it for herself.

She had feared that there was something wrong with her, that she had never longed for a husband and a family as the other village girls had done. She had never giggled over the older boy’s broad shoulders and fumbled compliments. But with Juurou, she understood what the other girls had meant. She felt she understood everything.

They had decided to have a child that year. 

“My grandmother is getting no younger, and I would like to carry on this family,” she whispered to him one night on their straw mat. “I think I would like to have a child. Some of me, some of you. A good combination.”

“I agree,” he said, and so they were in accord, as they so often were. Juurou was not startled by their stories or their workings, and had respect for the magics he saw around him.

He would be a good father, Miyu knew. 

Then one day, as they were at work in the field, Miyu was telling Juurou a story about a silly boy who did everything he was told to do quite literally and did everything wrong. Juurou was laughing, and so did not see the snake beside him.

His death was swift and sudden, and Miyu thought her heart had died along with him. Shiori, who had laid her own husband to rest many decades ago now, held Miyu as she sobbed for many nights. 

The village was kind to her, after the funeral. And Miyu had a small hope that she might still have a part of him left; but that was extinguished, and she had nothing of him but memories.

Shiori had loved her grandson-in-law too, and wept for Miyu, for she knew that when her time came, Miyu would be alone. She spent her time teaching everything she knew, for life is short, shorter than one thinks. And the days they had left together would be as good as she could make them; and Shiori was a very determined woman indeed.

+++++ Seven +++++

And they had two more good years together, in which the village women began to ask for Miyu instead of Shiori on their midnight visits at the full moon. In which Miyu learned to laugh again, and Shiori wove many fabrics, endlessly, shusu-ori and aya-ori and sakiori, enough to last Miyu for many years. 

When Shiori’s time came, Miyu was numb. She wrote to her brother and parents, telling them of Shiori’s passing; they wrote to her, instructing her to follow the funerary rites as was right and proper, and they would erect her shine there. Miyu was to follow the letter back to where her family now lived; but Miyu felt that her heart was buried in the grounds she had run barefoot along as a child, when she was wild and unburdened.

She did not send her reply until after she had laid Shiori’s spirit to rest in the correct manner, or as correct as she could arrange herself. She had been in a fog of grief when they had done so for Juurou; but now there was only her. 

Shiori had had no sons, and her mother was too far away to do this, so Miyu did it herself, arranging with the temple for the wake, sitting up in silence alone, going to the crematorium. She gathered Shiori’s bones, as was proper, and paid for her grandmother’s name to be added to the family tomb. Juurou’s stone sat alone, for they had been unable to contact his family to take him back to their tomb; Miyu thought her name might go on that stone, someday. 

When the first whirlwind of grief passed, Miyu found herself alone in her home for the first time in her life. Always she had had others, her parents, her husband, her grandmother. Now it was only her.

And still, the _Gen'yū_ said, still she must stay. It was her destiny that she would find here, as was meant to be.

She allowed herself three days of private mourning, doing only the barest of her chores while alternately numb or crying. It was the loneliest experience of her life, and the lowest.

She had known Shiori would not live forever, and she had survived grief before. But she had not expected for her life to feel this way once Shiori left her.

Miyu tended to her land and her garden, picked the peaches from the tree, did her laundry, cared for the chickens, and told stories all the while. She told them to the tender shoots that sprang up in the garden, to the peach trees and the laundry lines, to the chickens and the spiders. 

It made her feel close to Shiori to hear her words spoken aloud. Long ago, she had made a solemn vow to keep the stories of her family alive, and so she would.

And thus it came to pass that Miyu became a storyteller of such skill that the trees would bend to listen and the birds nest in her eaves to hear. A young queen bee took refuge in a dying tree in the orchard, and stayed to hear more stories, filling Miyu’s larder with sweet honey. Even the breezes seemed to whisper more quietly when Miyu was speaking, the better to hear her so they might carry her stories along with them.

+++++ Eight +++++

Now Miyu was a woman fully grown, a widow, shaped by her losses. She should by rights have returned to Juurou’s family, to live among them; but she had never met them, and had no desire to. Her brother continued to send money, and Miyu simply went on with her life as she saw best. She pitied women in the village, who had no skills as she had, that had given her a way to live as she chose to live.

If she was lonely, well. She was free, and that was not nothing. 

One day, Miyu was working in the field, the same field she had worked in with Juurou. And she was telling the story of the badger and the magic fan to the ground as she worked, to convince it to softer for her as she hoed; it was then that she spotted a snake, about to eat a spider who was weaving her web between two tall stalks of grass.

Miyu would not allow a snake to kill again, not even a spider, and so she stopped her story to attack the snake with her hoe. She was unable to kill it, but it slithered away.

“Hello, little weaver,” Miyu said to the spider. “You may weave in peace now. You make such beautiful webs.”

The spider reminded her in a way of Shiori; but that was neither here nor there. Miyu resumed her work, thinking no more of the snake nor the spider. 

It was a surprise to her when the next evening a knock came at her door. It was the dark of the moon; few came to visit her now.

“How can I help you, sister?” she asked the girl standing at her door. The girl looked up at her. 

“Do you need help in your house?” she asked. “I have been traveling, and I need a place to stay.”

“I will give you lodging for work,” Miyu replied, standing aside. “Come in. What shall I call you?”

True names were a dangerous business, and Miyu never asked for them. This courtesy had been noticed and appreciated by the many magical beings who can come through her doors, and safely back out again, so long as they were benign.

“I am called Kumoko,” the girl said, bowing.

“I have never heard that name before,” Miyu said.

“My mother loved clouds,” Kumoko said.

“Ah. Come, I was just sitting down to my evening meal.”

The two women supped together, and Miyu sent the girl to sleep in the spare bedroom that travelers had always slept in. 

In the morning, the girl was cooking when Miyu awoke. It had been a long time since Miyu had had anyone to cook for her. 

“Thank you, Kumoko,” she said, sitting down to eat. “What other skills do you have?”

“I am not skilled in the field,” Kumoko said. “But if you have a loom, I can weave.”

The weaving room had not been opened in a long time; Miyu could still feel Shiori there. But this girl meant no harm, and was trying to help. And there was still a stock of cotton that had never been spun and woven, laying about unused.

“Yes, I have a weaving room, and a great amount of cotton to be used,” Miyu said. 

“Then please allow me to use it,” Kumoko said. “I wish to help you however I can.”

It was not so usual to have such a helpful houseguest. They came along infrequently, and were a valuable resource to Miyu, especially now that she was alone.

“You are welcome to go in and do as much as you like,” Miyu said. “I thank you again for the meal; it was very well prepared.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” Kumoko said. “I am happy to cook for you while I am here.”

“That is a great help to me indeed,” Miyu said. “I must go to the field now.”

The two women parted ways, and Miyu worked hard, sweating beneath the sun as she told the ground stories of Momotaro. She did not expect much from one day’s worth of weaving from Kumoko; even her grandmother had taken time to create useful fabrics. 

It was thus surprising when Miyu returned to her house to find Kumoko had woven three great lengths of very fine cloth, such that could be used for a fine kimono or yukata. 

“This is extraordinary work!” she exclaimed. “Truly, it is beyond compare. How did you create so much in such a short time?”

“I cannot tell you,” Kumoko said. “But I will stay and make as much of it as you like, if you can promise me one thing: you must never look into the weaving room while I am working.”

Miyu was familiar with the secrecy inherent to many magical beings, and there was no doubt in her mind that Kumoko was magical indeed. 

“I promise,” she swore.

And so Kumoko stayed with Miyu, cooking her meals and weaving long, fantastical lengths of fine cotton fabrics. And as the time passed, Miyu was dismayed to discover that a heart she had long since thought buried in the ground was in fact still in her chest, and it was beating faster in the presence of Kumoko.

Kumoko was a young woman of grace, and though she was not beautiful her face had a charm to it, her eyes warm and full of laughter and curiosity. She loved to hear Miyu’s stories, and she was startled every time she laughed, as thought she was unused to the sound. Also, her bean curd was perfect.

Miyu knew that such feelings were unusual, but perfectly natural; she had seen many things more unlikely than a woman who wished to be with another woman. Society was less welcoming; but what did she care?

It was a terrifying thing, to have a heart again. Miyu began to find herself watching Kumoko, just trying to memorize her, the way she moved, the way she hummed, the way her hair fell down her back in a sleek waterfall.

After several weeks, Miyu was unable to help herself. Kumoko kept weaving gorgeous fabrics, and she was burning with curiosity; she had to know what the magic was. Going against her promise, she peeked through the window one day.

Sitting at the loom was not a woman, but a great spider, eating the unspun cotton and spinning it into fine thread which went directly onto the loom. The spider’s legs moved quickly, the fabric taking shape almost as if my magic; and of course it was magic, but not on the fabric.

Miyu managed not to scream. A giant spider! Her newly-awakened heart was racing in her, blood rushing about fast enough that Miyu fancied she could hear it. 

But now it was as though a veil had been lifted from her eyes. She knew this story. Everything fit- the person living alone, the loss of a loved one, the spare loom. She had even-

That day in the field, when she attacked the snake. She had saved the spider who had reminded her of Shiori; this must be the spider who had turned herself into Kumoko. And _Kumoko_ \- how had she been so blind?

Now that her eyes were open, Miyu could feel the _Gen'yū_ pressing her along the worn path of the story. Her thoughts raced along to the end of the tale.

The story ends with the snake first chased away returning in a fresh bundle of cotton to exact its revenge on the spider; the spider makes it escape, and Amaterasu sees her plight and admires her hard work, catching the end of the thread she has been spinning to carry her off into the sky, so that she might weave clouds into of fabric. This is why the word for “spider” is the same as the word for “cloud.”

 _Not this time!_ Miyu thought fiercely. _Not when I have only just found her!_

And Miyu began to make a plan. This took her several days, during which Kumoko began to worry at how quiet and withdrawn Miyu had become.

“Kumoko, may I talk to you?” asked Miyu finally. It was after the evening meal, and they were sitting quietly in the warm summer darkness.

“Of course,” Kumoko said immediately.

“I know,” Miyu said, “that you are a spider. Please do not run away; I am not frightened or disgusted.”

Kumoko looked ready to flee, but sat very still. “Did you look at me in the weaving room?”

“Yes,” Miyu said. “I am sorry. But the tale demanded it of me.”

“The tale?”

“Yes. Tell me, Kumoko, you know I am a teller of stories. Have you ever heard of the _Gen'yū_?”

They spoke well into the night, and before they parted ways to seek their slumber, Kumoko leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Miyu’s cheek. 

“Now that you know who I am,” she said quietly, “you know that you saved my life. I am so very grateful.”

“I am happy to have done it,” Miyu said. “but please don’t stay here out of a sense of obligation. I do not wish to trap you here.”

“No,” Kumoko said, shaking her head. “No, I wish to stay.”

And both women blushed, and it was the beginning of something.

+++++ Nine +++++

Miyu’s plan to thwart the _Gen'yū_ went thusly:

The story insisted that Kumoko spin all of the cotton Miyu had, which she swiftly did. She then informed Miyu that she would need more.

Miyu was then supposed to set out to another village, over a mountain, to get more cotton from the market. It was while she sat down to rest that the snake would slither into the bundle, and thus gain access to Kumoko while she was weaving and vulnerable.

Miyu did not need to go to the next village for cotton, when there was plenty to be had in her own. She simply waited for the next market day and bought a bundle, nothing out of the ordinary. She carried it home the long way, past the field where so much had happened. 

There, she sat on the low rocks marking the boundaries of the plot, leaving the cotton on the ground, so that the snake might slither in, which of course it did. The _Gen'yū_ had very definite ideas of how this tale should go.

When she brought it home, however, Kumoko was ready with a sharpened hoe, the same one Miyu had useds to chase off the snake once before. It had seemed fitting. When the snake slithered out, ready to strike, Kumoko was faster, and sliced its head clean off its body. The _Gen'yū_ was thus stymied, for enough of the story had been satisfied that it could not start over; but it was not done with. It settled on them, a weight that neither was unhappy with.

“I have so much magic now,” Kumoko marveled. “I could transform into- anything, I think, with this much power.”

“Would you?” Miyu asked. She, too, enjoyed the effects of the _Gen'yū_ on her charms and workings; she was more effective than ever before. “Would you change your shape into something else?”

“Would you like me to?”

Miyu shook her head. “I don’t want you to change. I don’t want you to leave.”

“No?”

“No,” Miyu said, extending her hand. “Stay with me, Kumoko.”

“For how long?”

“As long as you like. Forever, perhaps.”

“I will not live forever, Miyu.”

“Nor will I, or anyone. I know this as well as you. So why should we waste a day? Stay with me, beautiful spider-woman.”

“I will,” Kumoko said. “I would like that.”

+++++ Ten +++++

As the years passed, many things changed, as they are wont to do. But Miyu’s stories stayed the same, and she learned more, always more; and she gave them all the correct endings.

“How will our story end, my love?” Kumoko asked her one night, looking out at the stars through their window. “When you tell it to the next wise woman. How will you end it?”

“I think I will say, they lived as well as they could, for as long as they could, and always they found joy to go along with their sorrow,” Miyu said. “I think I will say, though there were many hardships, there was incredible beauty. I think I will say we were happy.”

“And will that be true?”

“All of my stories are true, beautiful spider-woman of mine. But ours is the truest of them all.”


	2. Notes & References

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! In this chapter, the story is over; however my wonderful Yuletide recipient mentioned in her letter that she specifically loves references & research. So I thought, well, this is Yuletide: why don't I pull back the curtain a bit, and show you what's going on in here? 
> 
> Also, though this story is set in a fictional version of Japan, I am not super familiar with Japanese language/culture/history, so if you've noticed mistakes or assumptions I made, this might give you a sense of where I was coming from with them.

This story pulled heavily from the book "Japanese Children's Favorite Stories," by Florence Sakade. Many of the stories I referenced I learned about initially from this book, including Mr Lucky Straw and The Spider Weaver. So I owe a big debt of gratitude to this book, while I also acknowledge that many of the stories have been changed to suit Western tastes and ideals. I'll reference it throughout this as JCFS.

The character's names were also chosen carefully, using Behind the Name as a resource; I'll notate their meanings in the relevant section in which they first appear.

And finally, huge thanks to the wonderful kaerstyne, who made themself available to me on several occasions to get my Japanese just right.

### Section One

[Miyu](https://www.behindthename.com/name/miyu) \- _From Japanese 美 (mi) meaning "beautiful" or 実 (mi) meaning "fruit, good result, truth" combined with 優 (yu) meaning "excellence, superiority, gentleness" or 結 (yu) meaning "tie, bind" or 夕 (yu) meaning "evening". Other kanji combinations are possible._ I didn't choose which combination Miyu uses; you can choose whichever best suits your view of her. She is multifaceted.

new year's mochi - a tradition mentioned in a story in JCFS. I read more in [this article.](https://theculturetrip.com/asia/japan/articles/7-japanese-new-years-traditions/)

Grandmother [Shiori](https://www.behindthename.com/name/shiori) \- Miyu calls her grandmother "poem-weaver," and that's actually the literal translation of the characters: _As a feminine name it can be from Japanese 詩 (shi) meaning "poem" combined with 織 (ori) meaning "weave"._

"Make me a vow on your own honor..." - I originally had Miyu making her vow on the moon, before I did some more research and discovered that in Japanese mythology, unlike many others around the world, the moon is [male](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto) and a bit disgraced to boot. It made no sense for Shiori to ask Miyu to swear on Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto, so I changed it to suit.

### Section Two

 _gomoku-mame_ \- a Japanese dish of simmered soybeans with vegetables that keeps well and contains no meat. Japanese culture traditionally looks down on the consumption of red meat, although seafood is acceptable; Miyu and her family live in a valley a little ways from the ocean, so their diet is largely vegetarian. I used [this recipe](https://japan.recipetineats.com/gomoku-mame-simmered-soybeans-with-vegetables/) for reference.

Mr Lucky Straw - this story was one I first encountered in JCFS. The version Miyu tells is most closely based on this retelling, though the version of the story that is most widely known is ["Straw Millionaire" (わらしべ長者 Warashibe Chōja).](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Straw_Millionaire) This version is the one that Miyu and Shiori discuss as being the "original" to her grandfather's experience in becoming Mr Lucky Straw.

Nagawara Susumu - [Susumu](https://www.behindthename.com/name/susumu) _from Japanese 進 (susumu) meaning "advance, make progress"_ was the version I used here, as his story is about one action leading to the next, to the next, and so on. The family name, Nagawara, was chosen with help from kaerstyne: _the kanji for straw is 藁, and there's a bunch of names you can have with that; it would be pronounced "wara", so you'd have stuff like Fujiwara, Warai, Warata, Warabe, Waraya, etc. If you use Nagawara, the kanji for "naga" is the same as the kanji for "chou" in the title of [the original story] Warashibe Chouja._ So it's a direct reference to the original tale!

cotton weaving - Cotton was introduced to Japanese textile weaving [around the 16th century](https://www.kimonoboy.com/short_history.html); before this, they wove hemp or linen, which were both referred to as "asa." However, cotton quickly became the dominant textile in the country, and features in several folk tales which I've drawn upon in this story. So cotton it is that Shiori weaves.

### Section Three

[kitsune](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitsune) - fox spirits, often/usually appearing as a mostly-human female. One appears in "Fortune's Fool."

[yōkai](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Y%C5%8Dkai) - From the wikipedia page: a class of supernatural monsters, spirits, and demons in Japanese folklore. The word yōkai is made up of the kanji for "bewitching; attractive; calamity"; and "spectre; apparition; mystery; suspicious".[1] They can also be called ayakashi (あやかし), mononoke (物の怪), or mamono (魔物). Yōkai range diversely from the malevolent to the mischievous, or occasionally bring good fortune to those who encounter them.

[Gen'yū](https://www.wordhippo.com/what-is/the-meaning-of/japanese-word-e746e1c6ac6a4c7f923adbaf3868c0b8a9449cfb.html) \- I struggled with picking a word for the Nipponese to use for The Tradition. I didn't think that they would call it by exactly the same word as mainlanders but translated, so I spent a little time on this. I hope I hit the mark. 原由 (Gen'yū) translates roughly to "source/reason/cause," while the two symbols it's constructed of are 原 Hara: original, raw, primary, primitive, field and 由 Yoshi: reason, cause, significance. The Tradition is a powerful force that pushes people and events and everything else to line up with tales; it is a raw and primitive cause for events. If you're interested in pronunciation, the word is linked to the webpage I got my information from.

### Section Four

[Kazuki](https://www.behindthename.com/name/kazuki) \- Miyu's brother's name was simple to choose. There are certain names that are more traditionally given to eldest sons, most of which include the symbol for "first" or "one." Kazuki comes from _(kazu) meaning "one" or 和 (kazu) meaning "harmony, peace" combined with 輝 (ki) meaning "brightness", 希 (ki) meaning "hope" or 樹 (ki) meaning "tree", as well as other combinations of kanji characters._ In this case, Kazuki consists of "one / hope" which symbolizes his family's hopes for their firstborn.

[Bō](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B%C5%8D) \- From wikipedia: _a piece of wood of varying lengths staff weapon used in Okinawa and feudal Japan. ... Used for self-defense by monks or commoners .... Although the bō is now used as a weapon, its use is believed by some to have evolved from the long stick (tenbin) which was used to balance buckets or baskets. Typically, one would carry baskets of harvested crops or buckets of water or fish etc., one at each end of the tenbin, that is balanced across the middle of the back at the shoulder blades. In poorer agrarian economies, the tenbin remains a traditional farm work implement._ I chose bō as a style of martial art that would make sense for a temple of monks to teach to common boys in a mostly agrarian area, that would benefit them in more than one way while involving nothing more complex than a staff.

 _[Futakuchi-onna](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Futakuchi-onna)_ \- From wikipedia: _a type of yōkai. They are characterized by their two mouths – a normal one located on her face and second one on the back of the head beneath the hair. ... In many stories, the soon-to-be futakuchi-onna is a wife of a miser and rarely eats. To counteract this, a second mouth mysteriously appears on the back of the woman's head. The second mouth often mumbles spiteful and threatening things to the woman and demands food. If it is not fed, it can screech obscenely and cause the woman tremendous pain._

Kazuki's story - this is the one place I invented out of whole cloth. There are few Japanese hero stories of the type that we in the West are familiar with for me to base his story on. But in the 500 Kingdom's Nippon, such stories exist, and Kazuki was pulled into this one. 

[Oni](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oni) \- the classic Japanese ogre. Large, colorful, and usually having horn(s) growing from their heads, oni are somewhat of a stock supernatural villain in Japanese tales.

[ōkami](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_wolf#Culture) \- From wikipedia: "A powerful wolf spirit that either takes life or protects it depending on the actions one does in his or her life." Kazuki's _ōkami_ is a variation on the _okuriōkami_ , or "escort wolf," that followed someone walking alone through a forest at night until they reach their home without doing them any harm. 

[Daimyō](daimy%C5%8D) \- From wikipedia: _powerful Japanese feudal lords who, until their decline in the early Meiji period, ruled most of Japan from their vast, hereditary land holdings. In the term, dai (大) means "large", and myō stands for myōden (名田), meaning private land._ In Nippon, daimyōs are still around, and tend to live in [palaces or castles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_castle).

[Onmyōji](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onmy%C5%8Dd%C5%8D#Onmy%C5%8Dji) \- From wikipedia: _one of the classifications of civil servants belonging to the Bureau of Onmyō in ancient Japan's ritsuryo system. ... They could divine auspicious or harmful influences in the earth, and were instrumental in the moving of capitals. It is said that an onmyōji could also summon and control shikigami._

[Shikigami](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shikigami) \- From wikipedia: _Shikigami are conjured beings, made alive through a complex conjuring ceremony. Their power is connected to the spiritual force of their master, where if the invoker is well introduced and has lots of experience, their shiki can possess animals and even people and manipulate them, but if the invoker is careless, their shikigami may get out of control in time, gaining its own will and consciousness, and can even raid its own master and kill them in revenge._

### Section Five

women's language - This is actually a concept I borrowed from China; it was a real script, called [Nüshu](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/N%C3%BCshu).

Kitsune - Japanese fox spirits. One appears in "Fortune's Fool." In Nippon, they are human in form, with red hair and fox-tails, and can change their appearance at will.

[Juurou](https://www.behindthename.com/name/juurou) \- From Japanese 十 (juu) meaning "ten" and 郎 (rou) meaning "son". Traditionally this name was given to the tenth son. 

Miyu's wedding and marriage to Juurou - the marriage described here is a take on a modern-traditional [Shinto wedding](http://japanology.org/2017/01/elements-of-a-traditional-japanese-wedding/), in which the ceremony is simple and small. However, in this case I've chosen to disregard many of the social aspects of marriages, including the issues of parental arrangement and social class. Miyu is a wise woman whose family is focused on the male child; she is outside society in many ways, and is not concerned with these things.

### Section Six

If you're wondering, Miyu is indeed grey-asexual, or demisexual. 

The story Miyu is telling Juurou in the field is "Silly Saburo" from JCFS.

### Section Seven

shusu-ori and aya-ori and sakiori - different type of traditional Japanese fabrics; you can read more about them [here](https://kirikomade.com/pages/japanese-traditional-weaves).

Japanese burial practices - includes a wake, the cremation of the deceased, a burial in a family grave, and a periodic memorial service. All of the practices mentioned are real; the [wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_funeral) has a good overview. 

### Section Eight

The badger and the magic fan - a story I found in JCFS. There's a lovely retelling of it by Tony Johnston and illustrated by Tomie dePaola.

Kumoko - Miyu comments because it's not really a name (except for one or two manga/anime characters), and is therefore pretty obviously an alias. "Kumo" means cloud, and the suffix "ko" means child, so as she says, it means cloud-child.... it also means something else. You'll find out.

bean curd - this is actually tofu! It's a staple of the Japanese diet, which as mentioned earlier is mostly vegetarian/pescatarian. Bean curd just sounds better.

 _Kumoko_ \- how had she been so blind? - The other meaning of "kumo" is _spider_. The story that Miyu is in is called various things; the version in JCFS is "The Spider Weaver," while [this online retelling](https://www.uexpress.com/tell-me-a-story/2004/11/7/the-weaver-of-clouds-a-japanese) is called "The Weaver of Clouds." The tale itself, of course, I described in the story.

Amaterasu - from wikipedia: _the goddess of the sun as well as the purported ancestress of the Imperial Household of Japan. Her full name means "Great Goddess" or "Great Spirit Who Shines in the Heavens"; she may also be referred to as Ōhiru-menomuchi-no-kami (大日孁貴神). For many reasons, one among them being her ties to the Imperial family, she is often considered (though not officially) to be the "primary god" of Shinto._

### Sections Nine and Ten

I don't believe there's anything that calls for a link or a reference in these sections; they stand for themselves. 

I hope you have enjoyed this journey with me. It was a long road, but a good one, I think.


End file.
